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The change hasn't been without challenges. I still occasionally catch myself slipping into old acquisition habits during meetings, thinking in terms of immediate profit rather than long-term value creation. But every time I start to regress, I think of Layla, of her fierce defense of her father's legacy, her belief that business can be ethical without sacrificing success, the way she showed me that some things are worth more than money.
Beside me, she stirs as the plane begins its descent, her eyes fluttering open like a sleepy cat.
“Are we there?” she asks, voice husky with sleep.
“Almost,” I say, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Just starting our descent.”
She stretches before peering out the window, her eyes widening as she takes in the view below—terracotta rooftops, azure water, and rolling hills dotted with olive groves.
“Lisbon?” she gasps, turning to me with delighted surprise. “We're in Portugal?”
“Surprise,” I say, enjoying her reaction. I've beendeliberately vague about this trip, refusing to give her any details beyond “pack for warm weather and bring your passport.”
“I thought we were going to the Bahamas,” she laughs. “You sneaky billionaire.”
“I have my moments.”
She studies my face with those sharp eyes that see everything. “You've been unusually secretive about this trip.”
“Have I?”
“Definitely. Usually you give me a detailed itinerary complete with restaurant reservations and backup plans for backup plans.” Her eyes narrow playfully. “What are you up to, Mercer?”
I shrug, fighting to keep my expression neutral. “Maybe I wanted to be spontaneous.”
“You've never been spontaneous a day in your life,” she says, laughing. “Except for that first trip here.”
“Which is precisely why this trip is special,” I tell her, taking her hand. “It's where we found our way to each other.”
Her features soften. “Is that what this is? A sentimental journey?”
“Something like that.” I lift her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. The truth is, I've been planning this trip for months. Every detail has been carefully arranged, from the private villa overlooking the ocean to the ring box currently burning a hole in my jacket pocket.
The ring itself took six weeks to design. A flawless emerald that matches her eyes, set in platinum with small diamonds forming a pattern inspired by neural pathways.A reminder of the technology that brought us together, reimagined as something beautiful and eternal.
As the plane touches down, I find myself uncharacteristically nervous. I, who have negotiated billion-dollar deals without breaking a sweat, am anxious about asking one simple question.
But then, nothing about Layla has ever been simple.
The car waiting for us is elegant and discreet, the driver offering only a polite nod as he loads our luggage. Layla gasps when we pull up to the villa, its white walls gleaming in the golden afternoon sun and bougainvillea cascading over terraced gardens that lead down to a private stretch of coastline.
“Bennett, this is... completely over the top,” she says, but her wide eyes and delighted smile betray her true feelings.
“Wait until you see inside,” I tell her, guiding her through carved wooden doors into a space that perfectly blends traditional Portuguese architecture with modern luxury. High ceilings, cool tile floors, walls of windows that frame the ocean like living art.
“You've outdone yourself,” she declares, spinning in the center of the main room. “Please tell me we get more than a weekend here.”
“A month,” I say casually, watching her reaction.
She stops spinning. “A month? You're not serious.”
“Completely serious.”
“But the board meeting next week. The NeuraTech trials. We can't just vanish for a month.”
“We can,” I assure her, moving closer. “Everything's been arranged. Caleb is handling the legal aspects. Landonis overseeing the trials. Your father is actually enjoying being back in the CEO seat temporarily.”
“A month,” she repeats, sinking onto a plush sofa covered in cream linen. “Are we playing hooky again, Mr. Mercer?”